High Roads and Low Roads
by corrupted-innocent
Summary: Dean receives an offer, and makes a choice, and makes a deal. -- pseudo-AU, major spoilers for 2.22: All Hell Breaks Loose Part II


May 6, 2008- spn drabble!! just a speculative one-shot about the end of season two, based in no small part on my cultural anthropology class.

Rating: PG, major spoilers for ep2.22 (All Hell Breaks Loose, Part II)

Summary: Dean receives an offer, and makes a choice, and makes a deal.

Disclaimer: all characters and settings belong to the CW; i get no money from this, only joy.

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Dean's hands don't shake as he puts everything in the box; he's never been more sure of anything in his life. He doesn't bother with any of his weapons- he doesn't want to trap the crossroads demon, or offend it, not this time. He slams the trunk down firmly, the box in one hand, and turns.

She's already there. Or- not. There's a woman in the middle of the crossroads, one that wasn't there before, but it's not who he's expecting. She's short and skinny, maybe 50 years old, her dark dark skin contrasting with the simple white cotton dress she's wearing. Dean watches her warily, watches her eyes, and they aren't red, but a deep deep blue like the ocean, blue all the way through. She's smiling at him.

"Come 'ere, chil'," the woman says, a thick Haitian Creole accent in her voice, and raises her hand towards him, the way someone might offer a palm to a frightened puppy. "Come to Mamam, we gon' make eve'ting a'right."

"What do you want?" Dean asks, hesitating. This isn't what he was expecting, not at all, and he doesn't like it.

"Papa Ghede sen' Maman t' offa you som'ting, som'ting you _wan'_," she says. Dean aborts his hesitant step forward, backs away until he's leaning against the Impala. "Chil', don' be like dat," she soothes. "You don' like Papa Ghede? Him like _you_." She gestures gently.

"Ghede," Dean says, voice thick. "The Voudoun _loa_ of death and fertility, Ghede." The bedraggled traveler, who waits at crossroads to guide souls to the afterlife. The trickster, the protector of children, the reaper with a soul. "Maman Brigitte," Dean greets with a nod, swallowing the bile in his throat.

"Oh, chil'," the _loa_ says, frowning at him. "Is gon' all be a'right. Papa Ghede, him jus' lookin' out f'you, boy. Is not y'time." She looks sadly at Dean, and steps forward. "You 'ear what him sayin' to ya, an' you tink on't." Dean looks at her, doesn't move as she walks to him and puts her wrinkled hand on his cheek- touching his ear. It stings a little.

"What's the deal?" Dean asks, numbly.

"Papa Ghede bring y'broder back," Maman Brigitte tells him, brushing her hand over his jaw comfortingly. Dean doesn't flinch. "Wasn' his time nei'er, and Papa been a'watchin dat boy a long time. He bring Sammy back, ya? And you, chil', you do wat you do." Dean looks at her, confused. "You hunt tings, hunt for Papa Ghede an' for Maman," she clarifies. "You done dat a'ready, but now you do it alla time, always. For all time. Keep him crossroads safe. Long as you huntin', Sammy stay live, stay wit' you."

"That's it?" Dean asks. "Just- keep hunting, and you'll bring Sam back?" He can't believe it.

"For all time," Maman Brigitte reminds him. "Won' age, won' weaken, jus' keep a'huntin. Wit' Sam. Sam gotta stay wit' you," she says gently.

"Sam- oh."

"How else Papa gon' tell you wat you gotta hunt?" she asks him, with a soft smile. "Sammy been lis'nen to Papa long time now, an' Papa like what he seen you two do. He wan' you keep doin' dat. So he bring you Sammy back."

Dean looks at her, then looks down at the box in his hands. _Live forever. Hunt forever. Sam would hate me._ "Can I think about it?" he asks, without looking up at the goddess. "Just- just ten minutes."

"You wan' hear deir offa?" She sounds disappointed, and frowns at him. "Den you lis'en to't. Maman wi' come back f'you, chil', Maman'll know." She brushes her hand over the side of his head once more, then steps away, and when he looks up, she's gone.

He heads to the center of the crossroads.

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"One year," Dean repeats. _Is one year worth Sam's life?_ And it's not even a hard question- the answer is yes. Always. But... _'Keep him crossroads safe.'_ Dean's gaze hardens. "No deal."

"Oh, baby, baby, you got a better deal lined up?" The demon looks at him, all coy seduction. "It doesn't get any better than this, Dean. Don't you love your little brother?"

Dean closes his eyes. "No deal."

"I'm disappointed in you, Dean," she says at last. "You're right; there's a lot of people gunning for your soul. Maybe when they find out how little you care for your baby brother, they won't be so eager to get it."

"Your time's done, cow," that honeyed voice says, from behind him. Dean hears Maman Brigitte's soft footsteps on the gravel. "Him tol' you, an' you done."

"_Dean_," the crossroads demon says, surprise in her voice. "Well, I can see I'm not wanted here. I didn't know your soul was in such high demand, but I'll leave you to the tender mercies of your next trade partner." Dean doesn't say anything, but he feels it when she's gone.

"Okay," Dean says, hoarsely, turning to face the kind smile of the _loa_. "I accept."

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"How long did you get?" Sam asks, and he's crying, and Dean hates it, hates the tears running down Sam's face. He smiles, bittersweet, and touches Sam's shoulder.

"Forever."

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this is coming out of a rush of spring cleaning and getting a bunch of stuff uploaded to ffn that has been sitting around on lj or my hard drive. hope you enjoy! comments are love, and concrit is always welcome.


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